


Within the Walls of Dragonstone

by insatiablegaydesire



Series: The Queens of Westeros [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, includes a lot of subtle references to the elements of ice and fire, sansa goes to dragonstone instead of jon, some other characters but not enough to list them, theres a recurring theme of sansa saying 'i would like that' to daenerys so theres that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablegaydesire/pseuds/insatiablegaydesire
Summary: As Sansa walks into the castle of Dragonstone, she also walks into an important new beginning. Within time, she will find that asking Jon for her to be sent in his place was the best decision she's ever made.





	Within the Walls of Dragonstone

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I guess I had more energy to put into this universe then I thought! I have a few more ideas to add into this series, but I won't be able to write for a few months because of things going on in my life. Feel free to keep an eye out for updates, I really enjoy writing for this pairing.

When Jon first agreed to let Sansa take his place as an envoy to travel to Dragonstone, she had been ecstatic. She's been looking to prove her worth, and who better to prove it for than her brother King? Her thoughts had been so cluttered with political strategy and proper etiquette that, for once, she forgot to consider clothing. It had been some time since she had been in King’s Landing, and the thought hadn't crossed her mind of how excessive winter furs truly were in the south. Only an hour ashore so far, and she can already feel the heat building uncomfortably around her middle.

Sansa readjusts the garment as she and her group are led up a stone pathway by Missandei, a woman who introduced herself as one of the Queen’s advisors. She starts to tell them all about Daenerys’s three dragons, and Sansa recognizes it for what it truly is: a subtle warning. Polite in conversation, but at it's core, a threat. It is unnecessary though; all people can talk about, from Dorne to Eastwatch, is the return of the beast marking the Targaryen sigil. 

“The largest is Drogon,” Missandei says. “He is the most protective of the Queen, so I would advise you all to take extra caution when he is around. Of course, all of the Queen’s children are extremely distrustful of strangers, but Drogon is the most aggressive about it.”

As if conjured by the woman’s words, a loud shriek is heard from behind them, and a great wind rushes past.

Ser Davos is quick to duck close to the safety of the short walls, as are the rest who came with them from the North. Sansa, however, goes stiff. Her back straightens it's hold, shoulders tight, only moving her eyes to the sky above to watch the largest creature she's ever seen gracefully sail its way towards the castle, its tail swishing side to side.

She notices Missandei watching her curiously, but Sansa moves forward before the woman can raise a question about her reaction. 

From there, they are led into the throne room of the castle, where Daenerys sits at the top, legs drawn to the side with her hands elegantly folded across her lap. She is the very image of a dignified queen, and Sansa can't help but notice that she is a beautiful one at that too. 

Missandei introduces Daenerys with her many titles, and after, Davos stumbles through an unprepared one for Sansa.

“Have you come to bend the knee?” Daenerys asks in lieu of a proper greeting.

“No, I have not, Your Grace.” Sansa makes an effort to speak loud and clear. She knows this is not the answer Daenerys is looking for, so every ounce of strength put behind it counts.

“And why is that?” Daenerys asks sharply.

“With all due respect, Your Grace, the North are full of very hesitant people when it comes to trusting outsiders.” Sansa chooses to continue to use Daenerys’s title as an attempt to appease her, but the other woman’s harsh expression does not budge.

“I was born right here in Westeros, the same as all of you,” Daenerys says. “I may appear to be a foreigner, but a true one I am not.” 

Sansa breathes in sharply through her nose, and pastes on a polite smile. “A mistake on my part, Your Grace. I meant that they are hesitant to trust people outside of the North.”

“They? Not we?” Daenerys is quick to jump on Sansa’s choice of words. She peers down at Sansa, and asks, “Do you not consider yourself part of this Northern Kingdom?”

Sansa curses herself in her mind for the slip up, but remains to look at ease to anyone who observes. “Forgive me, Your Grace. My heart lies with the North, though my body has not stayed there for a great part of my life.”

“Is that why your hair burns as bright as fire in the night?” A hint of a smile breaks past Daenerys’s controlled exterior, causing her pale features to be appear more rounded. “I had thought that most northerners bore black on their heads. Perhaps you were destined to live in the South.”

“If it is my destiny, I am not glad of it,” Sansa bites out. It is the first time she has spoken without addressing Daenerys by her title.

Daenerys looks taken aback at first, but she quickly recovers from her shock. Glancing at Varys and Tyrion, she says, “I have heard from good sources that the South was not kind to you. I am truly sorry for any hurt that Cersei or her family may have caused you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sansa says. She lowers her eyes, knowing that showing any sign of fresh pain could be used as a weapon by many in the room.

“You may call me Daenerys.” Daenerys catches a questioning look from Missandei for that, but she ignores it in favor of keeping her gaze on Sansa.

A true smile spreads across Sansa’s face as she nods once. “Thank you, Daenerys.”

“So, you have not come to bend the knee,” Daenerys says, shifting the focus back to the matter at hand. “You have likely heard of what happens to those who do not gift me with their loyalty. There must be a great reason for why you still took the risk to see me. What is it?”

Sansa bring her eyes up once again to address Daenerys, confident that any hint of her vulnerability is gone by now. “My brother King has spent time with the Night’s Watch, enough of it to come back with a warning of what lies beyond the Wall. He has seen the white walkers. He has killed and fought them beside the free folk and lived to tell the tale. Although he has faced many of these dead risen, he has seen thousands more yet to come. I have traveled on his behalf to ask for assistance in defeating this great enemy.”

“And why should I believe these stories?” Daenerys asks. “I have heard enough about you to come to respect your word, but what do I know of this brother of yours to respect his?”

“I know my brother, and he would not lie about this,” Sansa assures. “He would not lie about most things at all. Our father taught him to be an honest man and I know you can trust him.”

“An honest king?” Daenerys lets out a short laugh. “Now that's unheard of.”

Sansa sighs, but stands her ground. “He is an unconventional ruler, yes, but the people look up to him and are honored to fight on his side. Maybe after all these brash kings and harsh queens, an unconventional ruler is what we need.”

“Maybe, indeed,” Daenerys says, watching Sansa with an interested eye.

***

“You are quite well versed in politics,” Daenerys says later while they dine. She had asked for them to be seated alone for the evening, as to discuss things further in a more private setting. Earlier in the throne room, she could sense the subtle anxiety in Sansa when speaking before many strangers.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sansa says. Upon seeing the deliberate tilt forward of the other woman’s head, she corrects herself with a bashful grin. “Daenerys. I learned a lot from Cersei during my time in King’s Landing.”

“You learned how to be a good ruler from that frigid bitch?” Daenerys laughs, and a short chuckle of Sansa’s follows.

“I would see everything that she did, and put it under a mental list of what not to do. It has served me well so far.”

“From what I hear from the men who’ve known her, I imagine that list must be very long,” Daenerys says, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“It is,” Sansa says. She takes a sip from her cup of sweet wine, then starts to cut away at the meat on her plate. “I kept up with her decisions, even after I got out of the city. During both of her children’s time of ruling, she was ultimately the one in charge. She knows how to take control, and while upon first look that would appear to be a good thing, it is definitely not when it comes to her future as a queen.” 

Sansa pauses to set down her fork and knife, grabbing her cloth to work her hands over as she recalls some of the more painful memories to mind. 

“She has ferocity, but not nearly enough kindness to go with it. Her people despise her. The only thing holding them back from revolting is the lack of knowledge of a good way out. Although they fear her, they still listen to her when she says that they are to fear you even more. She uses your dragons as props to gather the people against you.” 

By the end, Sansa cannot bring herself to look back up to Daenerys, as she should. It is impolite, but she is much too hurt to scold herself into looking. 

Daenerys speaks softly when she responds. She has been in Sansa’s position before, and she knows how easily one lost in the thought of an unpleasant past can spook. “And do you fear me more? Do you think I would be a worse leader?”

Sansa has enough courage to bring her gaze up to the table, no higher. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a lock of Daenerys’s white blond hair sway slightly from the soft breeze coming in through the many windows of the room. 

“I do not fear you, exactly, but the uncertainty of who you are,” Sansa says, careful to choose her words. “I have only met you today, and before that, all I had to go off of were whispers from the East. I do not know the leader you are, or the leader you could become. But I do know that you could not be worse than Cersei. I'm not sure anyone could be worse than Cersei.”

Daenerys reaches out her hand so that it rests on top of Sansa’s, removing stiff fingers from the cloth to hold within her own. She rubs her thumb across the milky skin, and Sansa raises her eyes to finally meet Daenerys’s strong gaze. “I hope we can come to know each other better, so that we do not fear what the other may or may not be.”

“I would like that,” Sansa says, her eyes softening.

Daenerys stutters in a breath, and before she can think to stop herself, asks, “Would you like to join me in my rooms?”

Sansa blinks in surprise, but still answers with an earnest, “Yes. I would like that as well.”

***

Daenerys’s rooms are enclosed in grey stone, excluding a large opening nearly encompassing an entire wall that faces towards the sea. Sansa can hear the almost thunderous roar of the water outside, and it calms her far more than she thinks it should.

“We haven't done much to make it my own, but my decorative preferences seem to hardly matter in a time like this,” Daenerys says.

They sit on a bed of deep red sheets, soft underneath Sansa’s hand. The thought of a different scenario between her and Daenerys happening on this bed crosses her mind, and she blushes as she tries to focus on the conversation at hand. She hasn't been like this since Margaery, and the question of what this may mean settles in the back of her thoughts as something to consider later.

“I find that a pillow cover can add a personal touch to any room,” Sansa says. “I make a new one for each new place I stay.”

Daenerys’s mouth curves up at the corners. “Do you enjoy sewing?”

“Very. Working with a needle was my favorite thing to do with my mother when I was younger.” Sansa smooths out the deep blue fabric of her dress, a content smile on her lips. “I did this one just this past month. I think it suits me quite well.” She chose the color for the emotion it sparked in her; an unsettling had chill gone down her spine when she had first unearthed the thick material. She wants everyone to feel the same when they see her in it.

Daenerys, however, seems to miss the deeper meaning behind it. Instead, she rakes her eyes up and down Sansa’s figure, taking in all of the dress, and with it, all of Sansa, and says, “Oh, yes, I think it suits you perfectly.”

Sansa’s blush deepens, and she swallows roughly. “Daenerys, if I may...”

“Speak your desire, Sansa, and I shall hear it.” The light from the candles reflect in Daenerys’s eyes as she moves closer to Sansa, making the fire dance in the abyss of her widened pupils. It draws Sansa in.

“I’m afraid that it's most inappropriate...” Sansa can't tear her gaze from Daenerys. Her throat feels parched, and suddenly she knows Daenerys’s touch is what can fix that.

“We’re here to become unafraid,” Daenerys whispers, inching forward. “To know each other. Tell me, Sansa, would you like to know my lips?”

“Gods, yes, I would like that.” 

Sansa is the one to take the final step, enclosing Daenerys’s lips between her own. She lets out an embarrassing soft moan at the first contact, but Daenerys doesn't seem to mind. In fact, Daenerys returns a humming moan of her own. 

Sansa’s hand grasps at the leather that lies above Daenerys’s hip, annoyed with it. All she can think about is how much she wants to be able to feel the softness of the skin underneath it. She uses her hands to lead Daenerys up off of the bed, tugging at the leather overcoat.

Daenerys takes the hint, and breaks the kiss to pull it off. She drops it unceremoniously by the bed and rests an open palm on Sansa’s chest, gently pushing the other woman forward until her back is against the wall. Then, she reconnects their lips, slipping a tongue into Sansa’s panting mouth.

Sansa can taste the bitter salt from the sea air on their lips, the sweet wine from earlier on Daenerys’s tongue. She relishes in the feeling of unbearable warmth even as her whole body is pressed against cold stone. 

She had thought that this was going to be like Margaery, but she could not be more wrong. Margaery was a dream, a fantasy. Margaery was a thought to turn to when things got too bad, an imaginary world to dwell in at night when the day was particularly terrible. 

But, Daenerys. Daenerys was the most real thing in this world. Daenerys, with her knee pushing between Sansa’s legs, and her hair tickling Sansa’s exposed collarbone, and her mouth on Sansa’s, giving Sansa the strongest sense of reality she's had in a long time. 

Daenerys lays one last kiss on Sansa’s lips before she starts to move her mouth down her neck, allowing Sansa to gasp in a much needed breath. Her chest heaves as her head falls back to allow Daenerys to reach more space, but when a hand grips just a little too hard on her hip, her head snaps forward, a familiar sense of dread flooding her senses.

“No,” Sansa says through quick breaths. “I'm sorry, but-”

“You're not comfortable.” Daenerys nods in understanding. Her face was desperate a minute ago, but now, calm as the small waves lapping at the shore outside. “It's okay. I've been hurt before too. It takes some to get used to certain touches again.”

Sansa sighs in relief. “Yes.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get there,” Daenerys says. She rubs a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, smoothing out the neckline of her dress. “If you would approve, I’d like to visit Winterfell. Hear more about this army of the dead. And, perhaps, more about you.” She tucks a loose strand of red hair behind Sansa’s ear.

Sansa smiles down at Daenerys. She has never met such an extraordinary woman, one who can make her feel burning hot inside one second, then warm, both good feelings, but needed in their own different situations. She imagines what it would be like to show her around Winterfell. She sees Daenerys sitting in thought by the Godswood, eating with the remaining Starks in the castle, lying in Sansa’s bed wearing nothing but a smirk on her face.

“I would like that. Very much.”


End file.
